Hi, me again! I wasn't actually expecting to finish this story so soon after my last but... here we are! I began writing this way back in January alongside my last post (Pink in the Night), but had to stop because I came down with Covid (ironically enough). Hurt too much to write after that, and by the time I was better I had forgotten I had a WIP. Pink in the Night had the same fate, but obviously I finished that one first. Anyway.
I had a strange experience the other day where I realized I had virtually no one to talk to about this interest, and that made me feel unnautrally anxious for a little while. So, I went back to writing this to fill a void. I'll stop oversharing now, aha.
*Story is cross-posted on Ao3 under the same username.
This story has way more dialogue than my last did. Hope you enjoy it!
Nine in the morning, and it was already such a long day. He hadn't expected to wake up and play doctor, that much was for sure, but he would do anything for his wife if it meant her happiness.
Cosmo couldn't quite remember the last time she had been sick. In fact, he couldn't think of a single instance within the past few decades. Not a sniffle nor a dry cough, nothing. Wanda was naturally a healthy fairy.
Wanda had always been protective over her health. It was a well-known fact about her that she approached her well-being with the utmost care and attention. No matter the foods she ate or the hours she slept, not a single thing went astray, and she made sure of it. And, as a result, in the nearly ten thousand years they had been married, Cosmo could only recall her ever being sick a small handful of times.
The mere idea of her being sick bothered him greatly. For somebody so loving and compassionate to feel so unwell, it made him feel a little uneasy himself. Like the world was askew, and it couldn't be set right. Something felt off. But, Cosmo mused, sickness did not care for morals. Illness was never concerned with who it struck or when it did. Much like a dart, all it cared for was hitting that bullseye target; and perhaps that's why it made him upset.
Cosmo was, by all means, an anxious man. Worry could strike him at a moment's notice and ruin his hour, forcing him to replay anxious thought over and over until it was all he knew. It was normal for him, but it was a destructive behaviour. As much as he hated it, he didn't think he had it in him to fight it. Wanda knew otherwise, though, and she tried to help as best she could. Yet, despite her unconditionally loving words, it didn't stop his mind from wandering.
A similar event had crossed his mind several times already.
Wanda's mother.
From what Cosmo knew, her mother had died from magic deficiency a long time ago. It had been explained to him before. In the depths of his memory he could recall her words— the story she had so sobbingly told him when they were teens.
Death was a rare case for fairies, but not totally unheard of. With them being immortal, aging never seemed to stop, but disasters certainly could make it. And when death tracked a fairy down, it was remorseless in its punishment. Wanda had only been in the ninth grade when her mother passed. A young woman by fairy standards and dearly loved by the family, her mother had been a victim of fate's harsh games.
The disease—Cosmo had always heard it referred to as 'Double Dancer' but was never sure if that was the real name—seemed to come out of nowhere. Wanda's mother had never shown symptoms of deficiency before, apart from a few comorbid with the flu. And supposedly she hadn't done anything that could have caused it either. At least, not from what anyone knew. So, hearing she had come down ill one frightful morning was a little unexpected.
Double Dancer wasn't known to be fatal. Typically, if caught early, there were ways to prevent death. Magic could be regenerated with time. But, without her showing symptoms, she never stood a chance. It had been too late when the doctors found out. Wanda barely had the chance to say goodbye.
Though Cosmo was clear-headed enough to know this wasn't why his wife was sick, he couldn't help but stress. He often wondered if Double Dancer could be genetic, and by the off chance she did have it– no. He didn't want to stop and consider. It caused his heart too much strain. If he allowed his worry to manifest fully, he feared he'd never be able to take care of her.
She had told him not to worry. The nine-hour fairy flu, she said it was. Nine hours until she was clear, for fairies were naturally quick healers. Wanda would be better in no time. Until then, Cosmo was determined to keep her as comfortable as possible.
He peered into their shared bedroom. In the dim light, beneath the ivory sheets, he could make out the tangled mess that was her rosy hair. Her gentle snores filled the air. It wasn't like her to sleep in so late. The sight was almost too much to bear, but still, Cosmo found himself pushing the door open with his hip, water in hand as he made his way to her side. The door shut behind him with a soft click.
He stood idle for a moment, taking in his surroundings. The room was dark, all lights off and no windows. It was chilly, colder than normal, yet the fan above his head remained unmoving. Blankets were scattered across the floor, but the duvet covered Wanda head to toe. A half-eaten bowl of soup and crackers sat on the nightstand, freshly abandoned.
Cosmo turned to glance at his wife again before scooting the bowl to the side and setting the water down in its place. He leaned in closer to view her, noticing how she shivered under the covers. Though, as he brushed a rebel lock of hair from in front of her eyes, he felt her sweat graze his skin.
He pursed his lips to a thin line.
'Strange,' he thought. 'Why sweat if you're cold?'
Contradiction must've been a part of illness, he figured. After all, if Wanda of all people was sick, it had to have been.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he toyed with the ends of the mattress. His brow creased upon feeling her lean against him, a jagged breath escaping through cracked lips.
"Hey, Lambchop," Cosmo spoke. "How're you feeling?"
"Awful."
He frowned, trailing his hand up to cup her cheek. Her lids remained closed, but he could tell he had her full attention.
"I brought you some water."
"Thank you, sweetie." She moved to lightly trace the shape of his knuckles with her fingers. "It's so cold in here."
Her voice was nasally and strangely deepened. Cosmo bit the bottom of his lip as green eyes trailed back towards the discarded blankets that lined the floor. Four or five of them at the most, each one worn with age. Cosmo had forgotten they even owned some of them. He had to wonder where she'd found them.
Leaning off to the side, he grabbed two of the five. One pink, the other green. He laid them overtop her, making sure they covered her well.
"Does this help?"
"Barely but thank you." She curled closer to his legs, pulling the blankets upward. "How long have I been out?"
"Not long. Uhm… An hour, I think."
"Ugh." She rolled onto her stomach, gripping a pillow against it. Her throat lurched with an unusual sound. "Mrrm."
A troublesome sound, it was. The harshness of the noise left Cosmo in an uncomfortable daze. Staring blankly down, it replayed in his mind. Was a rasp like that typical of the fairy flu?
"Cosmo?"
His attention snapped back into focus. "Yeah?"
"Help me to the bathroom, please?"
"Okay…"
Scooching off and onto the ground, Cosmo stood up and extended an arm.
Wanda was slow in her movements as she pushed herself up by the wrists, abandoning the pillow beneath her. She took a hold of Cosmo's hand. Damp and sweaty, but she wasn't sure if that were his palms or hers. Planting her feet onto the floor, she forced herself off the bed, face flushing green with a sudden wave of nausea.
Cosmo squeezed her hand as she stumbled forward. "You okay?"
"I'll be glad when these eight hours end."
He adjusted her position in his arms, greeting her forehead with a gentle kiss before loosening his grip and taking her in fully. Her wings were strangely dulled, missing the sparkle they normally harboured, and miscoloured. They appeared almost wilted, blue instead of their typical pink. Cosmo had very little experience with the complexity of wings, but he couldn't help from thinking…
Wasn't that a sign of Double Dancer?
He paled in fear, nearly rivaling that of his wife's fevered skin. Chilled as though the blood running through his veins had frozen, leaving behind nothing but an uncomfortable trickle down the length of his spine.
"The vomiting is the worst of it."
Vomiting? Oh dear.
"Heh." He motioned her closer to his chest. "At least you won't have to worry about it in a few hours."
"I hope so."
Cosmo buried his nose in the mass of her magenta curls, breathing in her scent with an uncertain sniff. Emerald eyes latched as he took a deeper breath, pushing away the bad thoughts. If he could just convince himself that she was alright–
"Sweetie, if you don't mind, I'd like to get to the bathroom before you wear what I ate an hour ago."
His eyes shot open. "Oh," he breathed. "Sorry, Lambchop."
Pulling back, arm slipping around her waist, he guided her to the master bathroom. It wasn't far away, only a few steps.
Wanda limped, leaning against her husband for support. With every step, the ache in her knees gnawed at strained muscle. She groaned with unwillingness, the nausea hitting her in another wave as she clutched her stomach and hurried off to the sink.
Cosmo waited just outside the door. Though he knew he was only staying out for the sake of his own weak stomach, he remained with the guilt.
'She needs me. I shouldn't be out here,' his mind wandered. 'I should be with her, making sure she's okay.'
The door hadn't been fully shut, and Cosmo could hear her retching on the other side. The feeling within his heart only weighed down heavier. It's just a few more hours, he kept telling himself, but he fixated on his worry like a moth drawn to a flame.
To occupy his troubled mind, he ventured his thoughts to the carpet beneath his feet. Rubbing against the fabric of his socks he could feel the crumbs and dirt atop the floor. It would need to be vacuumed soon. But with Wanda's migraine, he didn't want to risk making her hurt any more than she already did.
Wait– migraine?
Didn't Wanda's mother suffer from migraines?
Cosmo's eyes widened. The realization caused his stomach to turn and his hands to tremble, thinking of both everything and nothing as anxiety pooled in the pits of his belly. Though he tried to feign stability, he could do nothing but stiffen and shake while the thoughts took over.
Was it possible? Wanda had always expressed the similarities between herself and her mother. There were an awful lot of them. So, was it possible this was another? And what if it was already too late?
No, it couldn't have been. Wanda didn't seem to be upset about being ill. Then again, would she even recognize the Dancer's threats if she were under the impression of the flu? Cosmo didn't think so. Her mother never realized, so what reason did that give Wanda? But why would the illness wait? Why strike now? Why not sooner if it were after blood?
Ah, how foolish of him. 'Why not sooner…?' Obviously, it was toying with him. Using his emotions to get some sort of twisted enjoyment. Dancer liked seeing him scared. It liked when his breaths got hitched in his throat. The vile thing wasn't after blood; it was after hearts. It waited because the longer time ticked by, the more it would hurt to see her go. Dancer played its games smart, but Cosmo was a stupid, stupid man.
The feeling of a delicate hand against his shoulder made him tense further. It snatched him away from his thoughts, but not completely. Saving him by only a landslide but leaving him to fend for himself.
"Did something happen?" Wanda's unsteadily hoarse voice rang.
"N– no. I'm–" He spun around and shot a hand up to grasp hers, bringing it down to waist level. She didn't appear to be as bad off as he remembered. So upon noticing the brightness in her eyes, he relaxed. "It's you I'm worried about."
"It's just a fever, Puddin'."
Somehow, he found himself doubting it. He held her stare, only hoping she couldn't feel his rapid heartbeat. There was enough stress in the air as it were. He didn't need her worrying for him. It would only make her feel worse.
"Heh," he breathed. "I guess so."
She sent him a warm smile, pressing her lips to the crook of his neck in reassurance. They were cracked; he could feel it. The cold against his skin was equal parts comforting and unnerving. How was it a kiss could be so mellow, yet so frigid?
He hesitated before lifting her off the ground, fumbling as he carried her back towards the bed. Her floating was not so great. Admittedly, he would've loved if she could have gotten there herself. Not because he felt burdened with the responsibility of charioting her place-to-place, but because he feared the unknown. What if she never recovered? What if the fairy-flu never ended? What if genetic code was to blame? What if…
That's all it ever seemed to be. 'What if' after 'what if'. Constantly battling what couldn't be proven until he was left nothing short of exhausted. How he wished he could just stop thinking.
How he longed to close his eyes and find themselves to be okay within the picture of a postcard. In a meadow where the constellations reflected from dewdrops on dandelions. Where a campfire burned as brightly as their love. But no matter how hard he tried, he would open his eyes, unable to escape the inevitable. She was sick, and he wasn't sure who exactly needed who more in that moment.
Good grief, he needed his emotional support nickel.
Wanda laid down, sinking into the duvet with a sigh. Her stiff body relaxed once it met the sheets, and she rolled onto her side, frowning as she caught a glimpse of Cosmo's distress. Behind his milky stare, she could see clouds within his eyes, the storm of fear brewing deep within. And, wow, did it make her nervous.
Well.
Perhaps she needed to intervene.
"Hey," She took ahold of his sleeve. "Lay down with me?"
"Huh?"
A short-lived, breathy laugh caught his attention before she spoke again. "Come snuggle."
He watched as she propped herself up by the elbow. He had heard her, loud and clear, but something about his tense nerves made him need to question it. His eyes dashed around the room, from his feet, to the walls, and back to her. "Me?"
"Yes, you, silly," she dropped her hand into his and squeezed. "I want to hold you."
"Oh."
He didn't need to be told again. Within seconds he was underneath the covers, putting a timid pointer up to her forehead. He brushed her bangs away, then planted feathery kisses across her temple.
"Your head feels warm…"
It was such an uncharacteristic statement. Of course, Cosmo was no stranger to pointing out the obvious, but he had sounded so empty. Like the spark of happiness he always carried with him was lost. What could have possibly taken that from him?
When Wanda didn't respond, Cosmo pressed further. "You okay, lollipop?
"You keep asking me that. I feel like I should be asking you instead."
"Heh." He averted his gaze. "Just worried."
"About?"
Cosmo remained quiet. Had it been any other circumstance, the action might not've been unusual, but Wanda knew something was up. She could see it in his eyes, read it in his face. Something had happened while her back was turned, and she was determined to figure it out.
Heavy emotions were never Cosmo's thing. In the past, he had been known to crack under that sort of pressure, and rather easily, too. Wanda had witnessed it a few times before. Most of which, Cosmo would come to her for support. But now, why not? Why the secrecy?
Wanda pulled away, only enough to show she was listening. She wouldn't jump to conclusions. Not until he responded.
"About what?"
And after a brief moment of silence, she got her answer.
"You really do look like your mama in those old photos."
She blinked.
"I see…" They had been highschoolers when Cosmo first heard about her mother, and they were well into their thousands by now. "Is that what this is about?"
It seemed obvious in hindsight. She mentally slapped herself for overlooking such a crucial detail. He hadn't seen her this sick in centuries– literally. It was normally him who was falling ill; and he wasn't one for quick, bright thinking. No wonder he was so upset. The weight of it all must have been crushing him inside.
She watched as tears brimmed his eyelids. They shook with such scared intensity; it almost made her share his fearfulness. Every emotion was amplified. His love, his fear, all of it. And he couldn't stay strong for any longer.
"Wanda, please, tell me you're okay. P– please tell me… Tell me you're alright," he hiccupped, breath wavering in the back of his throat. She felt him ball a fist under the sheets. "I– I can't…"
"I'm okay."
"I can't go on without–"
The way he refused to look her in the eye made her feel like crying herself. As the tears fell, his eyes strained bloodshot. It was overwhelming. "Shh, shh, Sweetie, it's okay."
"–without you. You have to be. Wanda, please…"
"Cosmo…"
"Wanda, please… Please–"
His voice steadily increased in volume with every word, and each one trembled more than the last. Deafening the world around them as Cosmo became more frantic. He couldn't hear her. That was when Wanda noticed a hand diving towards his scalp. She flinched. She knew the behaviour all too well. His fingers mingled with his hair, and he yanked with a scorching cry behind clenched teeth.
Wanda stayed quiet, knowing hearing her voice may further overstimulate him. She carefully treaded her own hands to his hair, using one to sooth and the other to pry the danger away. He would leave this with an ache, but at least she could prevent the bruise.
When her delicate touch proved effective, she gently pried his arm away, taking him by the wrist and pinning it between their bodies beneath the sheets.
"Cosmo, listen to me," said Wanda between laboured breaths, though she kept her voice soft. "I'd never lie to you. You know that, right?"
He stiffened, nodding but never daring to look up. Through his tears, Wanda could make out another sentiment she recognized. Deep within the pools of emotion was his trust. His faith in her.
She had finally reached him.
"I know you're scared," Wanda affirmed. Her husband remained unsteady, but he did not protest. Choosing her words carefully, she continued. "I know you are, but I'm okay. We both are. I promise. Dancer doesn't act like the flu, and you know that." Using her thumb, she brushed the tears away from his cheeks. "Breathe, please, honey. We'll be okay."
Cosmo closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe deeper. He took in four breaths, a process he used back in high school, and exhaled. One breath in, one breath out, followed by the mental image of her cupping his face. The process was repeated tenfold before he reopened, blinking back the tears.
"Wanda?"
"Yes, honey?"
"I just…" He trailed off, at a loss for words. There was nothing to be said.
"I understand."
Deciding he was stable enough to think rationally, Wanda released his prisoned hand. She moved hers to his shoulder, sliding it down to the elbow, then back up in a continuous, soothing motion. She hummed a gentle tune.
Soft in its melody but weary, the sound lulled him to clarity. Despite the roughness from her sickened throat, it possessed a certain tranquility that put him at ease. He sighed, and through heavy eyelids, Cosmo nestled comfortably into her arms. He wife surely had a raw talent for solace.
"…I love you so much," he whispered.
"Oh, you…" Worry was natural, but even so, the nine-hour fairy flu was, too. Sometimes a reminder was all that was needed. Wanda would wake in the morning, fine, just as she always did. "My sweet Cosmo."
"My Wanda…"
Thanks for reading! 3
I have a full-fledged story planned that deals with the illness (Double Dancer) mentioned in this story and Cosmo. Currently working on chapter one of it, but I wanna finish at least most of the entire thing before I begin publishing anything of it. No idea when or if it'll be finished, but I look forward to it, nonetheless. In the meantime, I'll probably be working on other oneshots.
Until next time,
-TheSecondhandVanity
